


Heavy Lies the Crown

by IcyPanther



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Fire Lord Zuko, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Or at least Sokka does, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, The Gaang Learns How Zuko Got The Scar (Avatar), Whump, Zuko (Avatar) Angst, Zuko (Avatar)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: The facts: Zuko is the Fire Lord. Not everyone in the Fire Nation is willing to accept this.The plan: Assassinate the Fire Lord and restore glory and honor to the Fire Nation.The result: An assassination attempt that is far more than what meets the eye. Literally.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 536





	Heavy Lies the Crown

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** set following season three (faintly references events in _[Raindrops of Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291990)_ )  
>  **Warning notes:** a little violence

Zuko glared at the scroll unfurled on his desk.

It looked back far too innocently considering the trouble it was causing him.

He glared harder, willing it to combust.

Nothing.

Zuko let out a sigh and then gave a rueful shake of his head. 

Tomorrow, he decided, rolling it up to put into the “later” cabinet that was starting to get a little full and he really needed to address.

Later.

Zuko let out a soft huff of laughter and gave another shake of his head. 

He knew he needed to sort out the scrolls and missives as there were people awaiting responses and as Fire Lord he should do his best for a timely correspondence, especially, he winced, given the fact there were still far too many who felt he shouldn’t be the Fire Lord and always looking for any excuse to prove so.

But…

Zuko lifted his chin.

He _was_ doing a good job. Maybe to start he’d been in a bit over his head, but after Uncle’s visit and counsel he was doing much better. He’d assembled a council — handpicked by himself with Uncle’s input that contained none of Father’s former members and their poisonous influence — that he could delegate tasks too and use their expertise and experiences and especially their knowledge of the Fire Nation as it was far different than Zuko remembered as both a child and the few months he’d spent in it following Ba Sing Se. Things were going slow but they were steady and Zuko knew the Fire Nation was on the right track now. It was a lot of work, a lot of long days a lot of, he glared at the scroll, paperwork, but it was worth it.

This was why he had been born. This was his destiny. And no matter how long it took he would devote his life to returning the Fire Nation to a place to be proud of. 

One of the larger items he had been working on was creating a council of world leaders — many of them White Lotus members — so that they could convene as one to discuss global issues and try to come to resolutions as a group. 

And two of its delegates?

Sokka and Suki.

They had arrived earlier in the week prior to the large council meeting that was to begin on the fourth day with the reasoning they’d like to explore the Fire Nation while not having to sneak around. That, and Zuko was pretty certain Sokka really liked the pampering that came with the palace. Zuko, unfortunately, still had to spend his days working (although he had promised on the seventh day, the day he allowed himself to take off all duties as Uncle told him he needed to be able to step away and trust his council to keep things running in his place, to spend the entire afternoon with them and he was pretty sure they had plans to sneak him undercover to town and he was more than a little excited about the prospect) but the evenings he did reserve for his friends. 

Tonight though was stretching a bit long and it was time to call it a day and go enjoy the evening with his friends. 

Zuko rose to his feet with a small groan, his robes feeling far heavier than they had earlier in the day and while sometimes he’d shed the outermost layer he’d had appointments throughout the day that forced him to remain in full regalia. 

He idly wondered if it would be presumptuous of him to decree that all formal wear be saved only for ceremonies and allow for casual clothing to be worn at all other times. Nothing crazy, but a light set of robes or a nice tunic and pants and similar to the outfits he’d seen the common people wearing in their day to day lives. 

But no.

Maybe in a couple years he could propose it but the Fire Nation was rife with tradition and Zuko was already upheaving so many; he could bear this one. At least this one didn’t hurt anyone, unless he counted his posture and the number of inkwells he’d knocked over with the large sleeves. 

Shaking his head with a small smirk, Zuko unlatched the “later” cabinet, winced at the sheer amount of scrolls already inside it, and tried to find a spot for this one in the “Colonies” section.

Over the sound of rustling parchment he heard the faintest sound of a footstep on the marble floors that led to his desk. 

“Sokka, I can hear you,” he said, rolling his eyes, finding a spot between “New Ozai / Omashu” and “Jao Shing” to stick his newest scroll.

No response.

Not surprising as Sokka had twice now tried to sneak into Zuko’s study (to what purpose Zuko wasn’t certain but it was in good fun and he appreciated the levity to his day) and the first time he’d been waylaid by the guards outside the door and the second time he’d bribed them with scones from the kitchen (and the smirks they’d given Zuko later were not really appropriate for a soldier to their Fire Lord but the moment of camaraderie had meant everything to Zuko who was still far too often surrounded by servants used to Father and Azula’s temperaments) but then promptly tripped over the box of newly arrived mail Zuko had told the servants to leave as far away from his desk as possible with a loud yelp that had resulted in Zuko knocking the third ink pot off the desk for the day.

“Sokka,” Zuko sighed without any actual ire, shoving the scroll into the slot and turning. “I said I heard—”

Zuko realized two things in the next instant.

One: It was not Sokka in his office.

Two: There was no way the dagger flying through the air was going to miss him.

Zuko jerked his body backwards, rolling his shoulder, and the blade aimed for his chest impaled through his right shoulder instead. 

He sucked in a sharp breath as he stumbled backwards, tripping over the hem of his long robes, and crashing into the cabinet, dagger quivering and sending ripples of pain through his chest.

Zuko grit his teeth and yanked it out, scattering droplets of blood. 

Not deep, the blade shorter than Zuko had been expecting, but still painful.

He’d had worse.

The apparent assassin — clothed in blood-splattered servant’s garb and sending ice into Zuko’s stomach as that blood had come from somewhere and his guards had sounded no alarm — charged forward, _leaping_ over Zuko’s desk, with a new dagger in hand.

Zuko caught the blade against his commandeered bloodied blade with a sharp _clang_ that reverberated up his arm.

“Who are you?” he demanded, searching the unknown face for answers, trying to ignore how his arm was shaking as his shoulder wept blood to stain his robes.

All that stared back was Fire Nation.

Black hair pulled back into a small top knot, pale skin and cinnamon colored eyes. 

But his eyes…

There was so much _hatred._

The man’s lips pulled into a cruel, mocking smile.

“Justice, your _highness.”_

There was a flicker of movement, a glint, to the left.

Another dagger.

And Zuko was weighted down by his robes.

The blade plunged without ceremony into his side, driven in up to the hilt.

Zuko barely held in the scream, staggering sideways as the assassin disengaged their locked daggers and Zuko caught himself on the desk, sending the ink pot rolling and mixing black with the red he’d just smeared. 

There was no time though to rest, to regain his breath, as the man was pulling out another dagger and Zuko narrowly dodged as it whistled past his ear.

He hit the ground in a roll, vision speckling black as he rolled atop the hilt buried inside him that he forced himself to ignore, and for a moment was hidden behind his desk.

Zuko took full advantage.

Both hands wreathed themselves in fire, burning away the heavy, constricting sleeves up to his forearms and he shot to his feet in a whirl of flames, heart roaring just as loudly as the fire in his ears.

It roared louder as the man was not where he was supposed to be.

Zuko barely turned in time to catch another dagger aimed for his chest and that time he let his flames stretch across the locked blades, heating the other.

And while the man retreated backwards a few steps he did not drop his blade.

Another firebender.

Another firebender using blades instead of bending.

Despite the heat rolling up his arms an icy shiver went down Zuko’s spine.

“You are more bite than I expected,” the man said, armed once more with two daggers and Zuko faintly wondered where he was storing all of them. “But,” his lips curled, “still weak.”

Zuko refused to let himself rise to the bait.

“Who sent you?” he asked instead, his voice coming out breathier than he wanted and the sharp pain emanating from his shoulder and side were a harsh reminder why.

Zuko ignored it.

He had to.

“The people, your highness.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed at the answer.

“Who. sent. you?” he bit out, mind racing through the list of groups that the council had compiled of Fire Nation citizens unhappy with the changes his reign had brought, of Father’s previous advisors and supporters, of the small factions of rebellion that had cropped up over the past several months. 

But despite all of that it had always been just words on parchment, empty threats.

Just talk.

This was far more than that. 

And for all the power the Fire Lord held…

Right now Zuko was entirely on his own. His guard were… down (Agni, please don’t let them be dead), it was the end of the work day with no more appointments or visits, his office was secluded, and no one knew he was in trouble. Even if he were to scream no one would be around to hear him.

The only person who could save Zuko…

Was Zuko.

But he was severely disadvantaged both weapon wise (and using fire in an enclosed office full of flamables was not the smartest move for survival) and movement; injured and these stupid robes that he couldn’t take the time to shrug off.

His hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger and his left hand moved to brush against the one buried inside him.

He fought with dao blades.

Dao blades came in sets of two.

“You doubt my words?” the man feigned surprise, pulling Zuko’s attention from the tremors of fire rocketing through him as his hand wrapped around the hilt. “Why? Do they surprise you? Your people hate you, your highness. You are ruining our great nation. And,” he shifted ever so, “we will stop you. Permanently.”

He charged.

Zuko swallowed against both the words — poison, they were poison and he could not listen to them — and what he was about to do.

And in a new spray of blood and a scream he yanked the dagger out of his side.

Two blades.

He now he could _fight._

Zuko swiped the thrown dagger out of the air and once more caught the wielded one against his right blade.

The assassin though had no apparent shortage of daggers and even as Zuko struck towards his arm, another came up to block, the _clang_ making Zuko’s teeth grind against one another as his wounds pulsed at the pressure and he could feel hot blood making its way down his side.

The man grinned.

“Let’s dance, your highness.”

And he _shoved_ Zuko backwards, sending him stumbling once more on the hem of his robe.

And Zuko…

He could not regain his balance, could not go on the offensive as he blocked one dagger only for another to slice across his arm, his back, another to find a home in his shoulder.

He…

He was losing.

Fire was dangerous in such enclosed quarters but Zuko tried as much as he dared; a burst to give himself space, a fireball to block the man’s vision, a lower strike to force him to sidestep.

But the man was too quick, unburdened by heavy garments, where Zuko was too slow.

He was familiar with his daggers, while Zuko was not. 

He was uninjured while Zuko’s wounds only grew.

And one stumble later they caught up with him.

Zuko let out a choked scream as the next dagger plunged into his leg and the entire limb buckled beneath him, sending him to the ground in a pile of cumbersome robes. 

Before he could even try to find his feet, to push himself back up, another dagger was there, stabbing into his shoulder.

 _Through_ his shoulder, the sound of metal shattering against the marble floor beneath him as the assassin loomed over him, pushing down and pinning Zuko to the floor with his weight, easily disarming him of the one blade he’d managed to hold onto.

Zuko tried to shift, to do _something,_ but the man pushed down harder and _twisted_ the dagger inside his shoulder.

Zuko tasted blood as he bit down on his tongue to keep the scream locked inside, heart roaring in his ears.

He…

He couldn’t move.

He was going to…

“Listen well, your highness,” the man’s breath was hot on his face.

His hatred was hotter.

And Zuko realized there was no reasoning with him, that even if he was good with words there was nothing he could say that would make a difference.

He was going to…

Just like that.

“You have ruined the Fire Nation,” the man said, leaning closer. “You have destroyed our values, our pride. You have dishonored your people. You have brought us _shame._ And so…”

He raised his right hand.

Flames crackled around it.

Zuko’s heart stopped.

No.

No, he wasn’t going to…

The ultimate mark of shame. 

The man raised his hand higher.

The flames seemed to grow louder.

Zuko could still hear it.

The cheering.

The roaring.

The trembling, pleading voice.

_“I meant you no disrespect. I am your loyal son.”_

The man’s eyes flashed.

Zuko saw a different pair in place of the cinnamon brown.

Amber gold.

Both filled with hatred.

Both filled with power.

Both relishing what was to come.

_“You will learn respect.”_

And just like before…

Zuko could do _nothing._

The screams were growing louder in his ears.

His pulse was roaring.

His heartbeat thundered its last.

His body could only tremble, both fresh and remembered fear and horror taking over.

“ _And suffering will be your teacher.”_

“Bear this mark of shame, your highness,” the man sounded above it all. “And…” he pulled his fist back, lips pulling up into a cruel smile. “Long reign the Phoenix King.”

The fist came down.

Hot and fiery and promising screams and pain and— 

And the fist didn’t impact against his right eye.

Instead a flash of blue and silver hit it, sending heat washing over Zuko’s face as the flaming hand was jerked sideways, the man giving a shout of pain accompanied by a dull _crack_ of breaking bones.

There was another shout too, high and panicked and so familiar it _hurt._

“Zuko!” 

Sokka.

Sokka was _here._

He’d come to drag Zuko to dinner after all.

“Get away from him!” 

And the whistling was back — boomerang, Zuko faintly placed, Sokka’s boomerang — and the assassin took it right to his head.

He collapsed without any ceremony atop Zuko, knocked out cold.

“Zuko!” 

And with even less ceremony Sokka was there and hauling the unconscious man away and then returning, dropping to his knees next to Zuko.

Zuko had never seen him look so _scared._

“‘m…” he tried to speak around the breathlessness stealing away his breath, the vice of fear still wrapped around his heart.

One second later and…

And…

“If you try to say okay you are a liar,” Sokka snapped at him, but it wasn’t unkindly. “Tui and La, Zuko. That was… what was…” His eyes left Zuko’s face to where Zuko could feel the dagger still impaled in his chest — and while Zuko knew there was blood he knew just like the other wounds it wasn’t fatal and Sokka could tell that too — to the other bloodied marks in his robes, to the collapsed assassin but they came back then to his face.

Specifically to...

His scar.

And the icy hold that was just starting to lessen as Zuko convinced himself he was not about to die, was not about to bear a second mark of failure, returned in full force.

Because there was something knowing in bright ocean eyes, something _horrified._

“It…” Sokka’s voice was so _small,_ the barest waver to it but his gaze was steady. “It wasn’t a training accident?”

He left it hanging there, allowing Zuko to confirm what the others all apparently thought the source of his scar was, to spare him from speaking of it.

But…

But… 

Zuko gave the barest shake of his head. 

“A-assassination?” Sokka whispered.

Like the attempt he’d just witnessed.

“No,” the word was barely a breath. 

Zuko knew Sokka wouldn’t ask any further.

It was the reason he spoke.

“My father.”

Zuko couldn’t entirely describe Sokka’s expression then.

Anger.

Hate.

Sadness.

Compassion.

And then…

“Your dad was a real jerk.”

And of all the things Zuko had expected that was not it.

And yet…

It was exactly what he’d needed right now as the remaining cold melted away to warmth.

To understand without needing to know.

He let out a breath of a laugh in agreement, although it turned into a choked off moan as the movement jostled the blade.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny,” Sokka huffed, although his expression looked a little less watery then. “And believe me when I say I have some things I’m gonna say to him. But right now…” one of his hands landed featherlight on Zuko’s shoulder, “you need a healer.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow.

Really though, it wasn’t bad.

Not what it could have been.

What it should have been.

Sokka should have been discovering a corpse with a second, matching burn scar.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t thank me,” Sokka interrupted him. “I’m just… Tui and La, Zuko, that was…”

Too close.

Much too close.

“I know,” Zuko said quietly. 

And it couldn’t happen again. Changes would have to be made and investigations started. But before all that...

He swallowed then.

“My… my guards. Are they…?”

Sokka didn’t need to say anything, his eyes lowering.

“Come on,” Sokka said several moments later. “Let’s get you up.”

It took more effort than Zuko would have liked, his leg still not supporting him and the heavy outer robes unbalancing him that Sokka, using one of the daggers on the floor, finally just cut off with a low curse and Zuko absolutely did not stop him and he absolutely was getting rid of them going forward, but finally he was slumped in his desk chair — both of them pointedly ignoring the blood and ink all over the desk — while Sokka secured the would-be assassin with strips of the outer robe.

Zuko felt like it was poetic justice.

“Sokka?” Zuko said quietly and Sokka looked over to him. “I know you said not to, but…” he bowed his head, as close as he could to a bow right now. “Thank you.”

“Zuko,” Sokka chided. “You don’t have to—”

“Not for saving my life,” Zuko continued and his lips quirked up a tiny bit at Sokka’s squawk. “But… but for being my friend. And… and not…”

Not pushing.

Not judging.

Not demanding anything more.

“And I’ll say it again,” Sokka said quietly. “You don’t have to thank me for that. That’s what friends do, Zuko. Friends also bring their friends to the healer following assasisnation attempts, so up you go, your fire lordness.”

Sokka was at his side within the second, helping guide one of Zuko’s arms over his shoulders and bearing the brunt of his weight so Zuko could limp as best he could.

A loud gurgle broke up their first shuffled steps and as one they both looked down.

“If you really want to say thank you, you can say thank you to my stomach,” Sokka said, not at all embarrassed as he began trekking them forward again. “It really is thanks to it that I came to get you and, well…”

Zuko’s lips quirked up, grateful for the distraction from each painful step, from the sight of his collapsed guards who had lost their lives because of him, from the cold knowledge that there was someone who wanted to kill him, to see his father returned to the throne.

Right now…

Right now he needed this. 

He sent another silent thank you to Sokka for being exactly what Zuko needed.

“And how might I best thank your stomach?” he asked.

“Well, it is quite partial to those cinnamon apple tarts,” Sokka said. “And of course a nice, mild, and I mean mild, helping of that tomato salsa with the chips and…”

Sokka continued to list his favorite Fire Nation foods and Zuko let the cadence wash over him, calming him and giving him the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to leave the heavy horror of the past behind.

The future was ahead of him.

And while he still had a lot of work to do...

The path forward was bright indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic request of Zuko + assassination attempt when he's Fire Lord with the assassin specifically targeting his face with flames. Of course such a plot requires a happy ending and enter protective!Sokka because seriously the world needs more BAMF Sokka ♥ 
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic it would mean a lot to hear from you in the comments (and the small details make my day!). Life is hard these days and hearing from readers -- moreso than just a page hit or a kudo -- truly helps to keep me going. Thank you for your support ♥


End file.
